Oversight
by kokoda2007
Summary: Sam was barely a few feet away when he heard the impact – there just wasn’t enough time for him to get out of the way. Hurt!Sam.
1. Chapter 1

**Title:** Oversight

**Disclaimer:** Sadly, I still don't own them, just playing with them 'til they break.

**Notes: **A small splattering of swear words escaped. No spoilers. Set sometime in Season Two.

**Summary:** Sam was barely a few feet away when he heard the impact – there wasn't enough time for him to get out of the way. Hurt!Sam.

**ooOoo**

**Chapter 1**

Another crappy motel room, Sam thought with distaste, as the weathered door creaked open on its sagging hinges. Just what he needed to complete his already crappy day. Hours trekking through the forest only to find that it had been a pack of wild dogs killing the local cows hadn't been exactly how he'd anticipated the hunt ending. He'd thought it was better to be safe than sorry, however Dean wasn't being quite so philosophical about the whole thing.

No, Dean was tired, dirty and in an obnoxiously bad mood - and Sam was bearing the brunt of his displeasure. Shit, just because Dean didn't get to shoot anything or start a fire it was suddenly his fault.

Sam tossed his duffel on to the bed and sank down into the sagging mattress to pull off his boots, watching as Dean yanked off his own muddy footwear with total disregard for the beige carpet.

He moved quietly around the room, keeping out of Dean's line of fire, masking his presence in the room with his silence. Experience had taught him to give his brother a little space when he was in one of his '_moods_'.

He stopped and stared out the window. The rain had started to come down in earnest, quickly gaining momentum from the few light drops he'd felt earlier. Heavy rain was forecast and he was glad they'd finished the hunt on schedule and could ride out the storm in the shelter of the motel. The dismal outside weather somehow made the drab motel room so much more appealing. It was dry and warm, if not a little stuffy, but there was hot water and a clean bed, which was everything he needed.

The sound of the television switching on pulled him away from the window and he glanced across the room to see Dean lounging on one of the beds with his back propped against the head board, the remote control clutched in his hand as he clicked through the array of available channels.

He walked across the room and settled on his own bed, for once raising no objection to his brother's incessant channel flicking. It'd been a long day and he was beyond tired.

"Could go a burger." Dean announced ten minutes later as he watched the advertising spiel for a local diner.

"Mmm." Sam mumbled, already half asleep.

"Maybe some pie." Dean considered as an array of foods flashed across the screen.

"Mmm." Sam tried to block out the annoying sound of his brother as he settled his head deeper into the pillow.

"You hearing me Sammy? I said I'm hungry." Dean snapped.

"Well go get something to eat." Sam muttered.

"It's your turn to go fetch." Dean announced, giving Sam's mattress a nudge with his foot.

"Since when?" Sam pushed himself up and looked at Dean.

"Since it was your bright idea to waste the day tracking a pack of dogs." Dean retorted, fishing the Impala keys out of his pocket and tossing them to his brother.

Sam instinctively stretched out a hand and caught the keys effortlessly. "Can't we just order in?"

"Nah," Dean answered before giving Sam the memorized address of the local diner that he wanted food from.

Sam sat silently for a moment looking at Dean, trying to weigh up how serious he was. When Dean's only response was to pull a few crumpled bills out of his wallet and hold them out, Sam resigned himself to heading out into the rain again. If it would cheer up his brother and pull him out of his current bad mood then it was probably a small price to pay.

With a deep sigh Sam stood up and took the bills out of his brother's hand. If he had to be the one going out, the least Dean could do was pay.

Sam pulled back on his mud stained boots and gave Dean a last hopeful look. "It's raining," he muttered, the words taking on a childish whine.

"No shit Sherlock." Dean watched as Sam opened the door, taking a step backwards as the wind drove the cold rain into the room. "What the hell Sam, you gonna melt or something?"

"No, no I'm going." Sam braced his shoulders and stepped outside.

**ooOoo**

Sam maneuvered the Impala on the slippery road, thankful that there were few other motorists braving the weather as he swerved to avoid a large pot hole. Of course there were no other motorists, he thought, only an idiot would be out driving in this weather.

An idiot with an obstinate older brother.

The address Dean had given him was accurate, and he found the diner with little trouble, even though he couldn't read a street sign in the dismal weather. He sat in the parked car for a moment, hoping the rain would ease up, but the drops only got larger, and the distant sound of thunder roared across the sky. The storm was getting closer.

Sam made a mad dash into the diner, his feet saturated by the torrent of water running off the road. There was only one other customer inside, and it looked as though the place was getting ready to close up.

"Sorry sweetie, closing up early 'cause of the storm." Sam watched as the waitress deftly stacked the chairs, preparing to mop the floor.

Sam brushed his dripping hair out of his eyes.

"There's a convenience store 'cross town that might be open, but I wouldn't recommend driving in this weather," the waitress continued, barely pausing in her task.

"Uh, thanks." Sam gave her a small smile as he turned away.

Sam pulled open the heavy door, bracing himself against the onslaught of water pouring off the diner roof and sloshing over the eaves. He jogged back to the car, no longer caring about how much wetter his feet or clothes got. There came that point where you couldn't really get any wetter than you already were. As he climbed into the car, he made a squelching noise on the seat as he slid his lanky frame in front of the steering wheel in his water logged clothes. He was soaked through, his drenched hair dripping cold water down his back and into his eyes. A small puddle pooled at his feet.

A shiver rippled through his body and he cursed his older brother.

He started the car and cranked up the heating, letting it run for a moment before accelerating away from the diner. He'd have to head back and pick them up something from the convenience store around the corner from their motel. If Dean hadn't been such an ass, if he hadn't been foolish enough to give in to his brother's demands; that's where they'd most likely have picked up something to eat anyway. At least he'd tried – he'd gone to the diner; it wasn't his fault it was closed. Dean could either take it or leave it. He was beyond caring.

He drove cautiously, unable to see the potholes that riddled the road, much less avoid them. The windscreen wipers moved rhythmically across the window, but he still found himself leaning forwards, peering out the windscreen, trying to get a better view. The journey to the convenience store was painfully slow, and he had to fight a few times to keep the car on the road. It was times like these that he would have liked a more modern car, with benefits like traction control, but he'd never dare say those words to Dean.

As he pulled to a stop at the side of the road near the convenience store he was pleased to see a number of other cars already parked nearby. It looked as though the store was open, so this could thankfully be his last stop. His wet clothes were sticking uncomfortably to his body, and a warm shower was starting to take precedence over hot food. Despite the pumped up heating, another shiver rippled across his body.

Once again, he stepped out into the driving rain. He didn't bother hurrying this time. There didn't seem to be an inch of him that wasn't already wet. Sometimes you just reached that stage where a bit more water made no difference. Wet was wet.

The convenience store was crowded when he entered, and he doubted he was the only one directed to this location. He looked around, picking up some pre-made sandwiches and a couple of drinks before joining the queue. Fortunately, there seemed to be a selection of hot greasy food also available for purchase. Dean at least would be happy.

It seemed the convenience store wasn't used to catering for a crowd. The queue moved achingly slow, and he had jog on the spot a few times to try to keep warm. Heating didn't seem to be an option the store had chosen to install so he pulled his coat a little tighter around himself. It made little difference.

Finally he had his purchases in hand, secured in a plastic bag to keep dry; he made his way across the street and back towards the car. At least something would stay dry, he though, as he trudged through the rain to the car, pulling his jacket tighter around his neck to ward off the icy drops of water.

Sam distantly heard the compression braking as a truck tried to slow to a stop in the slippery conditions. Only as the sound got closer and the screeching increased in intensity did he raise his face in the direction of the noise. He watched as the truck fish-tailed as the driver tried in vain to control the vehicle as it slid on the wet road, tires struggling to maintain their grip. Unable to look away, he watched as the truck shuddered and slammed sideways into the guard rail at the edge of the road, still moving steadily in his direction, towards the parked Impala.

He fumbled with the keys, trying to keep an eye on the approaching truck. He needed to get the Impala out of its destructive path.

The keys dropped from his wet fingers and landed on the road. The sound of screeching tires was getting louder, closer, and he wavered between getting himself to safety and saving the car. Dean's car. His brother's most treasured possession.

He dropped the bag of food to the ground beside the car and bent down to retrieve the keys from the puddle near his feet, gripping them tightly this time as he inserted the key into the lock with precision.

He looked up.

The truck was almost upon him.

He didn't have enough time.

**ooOoo**

He felt like everything was happening in slow motion and he was powerless to change the course of the events unfolding in front of him. The truck was close enough that he could see the driver yanking on the steering wheel as he tried to get his vehicle under control. His attempts were fruitless, not altering the route the truck seemed determined to take.

The Impala was directly in its path.

His instinct to run kicked in, but deep inside he knew he had left his flight too late. Mindless now of the pouring rain he pushed his body away from the car, turning his back on the approaching vehicle and moving in the opposite direction. He was barely a few feet away when he heard the distinctive sound of metal hitting metal - the sound of metal compacting as two unyielding forces met.

Adrenaline was already pumping through his veins, but the fear of impact forced another shot to surge through his body, urging him away from the imminent danger.

His heart raced and muscles pumped as his body raced to reach safety. He just wasn't fast enough.

The truck clashed with the front corner of the Impala, causing the truck to slow but not stop. The momentum caused it to push the Impala forwards, spinning the car on the slippery road. There wasn't enough time for him to change direction and distance himself from the collision.

The sudden impact of the Impala striking him on the side of the body left him reeling. He felt disconnected from his body as the air left his lungs in a rush. Instinct kicked in and he raised his arms to shield his body as he was propelled forwards, feet struggling to remain on the ground as his body was thrust from it's purchase on the ground with sudden force.

He landed hard but managed to hold on to consciousness.

Through the haze he heard a crash as the truck came to a sudden stop and then all was blissfully silent save for the sound of the rain, its pounding harsh against his now throbbing head.

He was a little afraid to look up and see what had become of the truck. What had become of the Impala.

Raising pain filled eyes, he took stock of the scene before him.

Dean was going to kill him.

**ooOoo**

He parked the car directly outside their motel room.

Taking a deep breath, he dragged himself from the car and walked the few steps to the motel room.

"Bobby's got a new hunt for us." Dean greeted him as he pushed open the motel door.

Sam looked down at their packed bags resting beside the door.

"What the hell happened to you?" Dean took stock of the sodden muddy figure that his brother presented.

"I'm okay, I …ah…" Sam held out the car keys to his brother.

"Sam, tell me you didn't - not my car!" Dean pulled the door fully open and peered around Sam and into the car park beyond.

"No Dean, I didn't." Sam moved into the room and ran a hand through his wet hair, pushing the dripping tendrils away from his eyes.

"Oh, thank god." Dean released his pent up breath.

"But a truck…" Sam hesitated as he watched Dean's body tense.

"What, a truck what? Dean demanded.

"I ah parked on the side of the road and a truck clipped – ." Sam watched as Dean's eyes darted outside to look at the Impala again.

"Clipped?" Dean let the word hang in the silence as he waited for an answer.

Sam stood rooted to the spot as Dean threw on his jacket. "Yeah, front corner - it's not that bad Dean. Could've been worse."

Sam watched as Dean stepped outside, circling the car before crouching down low to inspect the damage. Considering the impact, it really wasn't that bad, Sam thought. The Impala was still drivable, most of the damage confined to the front end and from what he could gather; the mechanics were all intact except for a headlight. Granted, the car would need a bit of body work, but it wasn't like they hadn't been there before.

"You smashed my car." Dean accused as he ran a hand across the damage.

Sam watched from the doorway. "God Dean, I wasn't even driving. I told you, the truck driver lost control, hell the roads are pretty slippery, and the truck just slid straight into her."

"I'm gonna kill him." Dean stroked the car as he moved back towards the motel room.

Sam stepped aside to let his brother enter. "Dean, it wasn't his fault."

"How do you figure that one Sam?" Dean wiped a sleeve across his face to remove the rain drops.

Sam lent against the wall. "I watched it Dean, he tried to avoid the car."

"Didn't try goddamn hard enough if you ask me." Dean snapped as he tossed the car keys onto the dresser.

Sam lowered his head and looked at the stains his wet boots were trampling into the carpet. Exhaustion was making itself felt.

"Well there's not much point going anywhere now, we'd be better off waiting 'til tomorrow morning …wanna take a good look at her in the daylight, see what work needs to be done before we head off. Hopefully it can wait 'til we get to Bobby's and I can fix her up there." Dean looked out the open door, unmindful of the driving rain as he stared transfixed at the Impala.

"I'm ah gonna grab a shower, dry off." Sam reached down for his bag, biting back the grimace of pain that the action caused.

Sam gave a last look at his brother as Dean stood still and silent, staring out into the rain. "I'm sorry," Sam whispered as he moved across the room and slipped into the bathroom, closing the door behind him.

Letting the bag drop to the floor, Sam braced his hands on the sink and took a good look at himself in the mirror. He was utterly drenched, from head to toe, flecks of mud clinging to his face and hair.

"Hey Sam." Sam startled at the thump on the door. "Where's the food?"

"Diner closed up early 'cause of the storm."

"Just friggin' great." Dean cursed at the closed door. "I'm gonna see if there's anywhere else around this crap hole to get a bite to eat."

Sam didn't move until he heard the motel room door slam. Without the worry of being overheard he pulled his clothes off, emitting a deep groan at the pain the movements caused. He wondered briefly whether he should have acquiesced to the bystanders concerns and gone to the hospital, but dismissed the thought. He'd had worse and money, as always, was tight.

**ooOoo**

**Author's note:** Next chapter is already in draft format – should be posted in a couple of days or so.

**Reviews are love.**


	2. Chapter 2

**Author's Notes: **I just want to say how much I've appreciated the reviews and private messages I've received. As some of you know, I got a dose of really negative feedback a while ago which threw my writing confidence straight down into the gutter (the reason why its been a couple of months since I've managed to get up the nerve to post anything here) so all the support has really inspired me to keep going. Thank you!

I'm also trying hard to not let superstition get to me (yes, I am superstitious, I won't even walk under a ladder). A while after posting the first chapter I logged into the site and looked to see how my story was going, and there had been 666 hits on it. Next time I checked, there were 969. Too scared now to look in case next time I see 999. I'm hoping there's not a bad omen there somewhere.

**ooOoo**

**Chapter 2**

Dean let the motel room door slam closed behind him. He fingered the car keys in his palm as he stood looking once again at his much loved Impala. The rain glistened against the paintwork, large drops running off the waxed surface with little resistance before joining the muddy puddles on the ground.

His eyes followed the slight scrape on her fender until they stopped and rested on the freshly damaged front, water pooling in the smashed head light and dripping off the mangled bumper. Seeing the damage resurrected memories of the last time he'd been forced to beat out the black metal panels, the wreck that preceded it and the anguish that followed. It was still too fresh - probably always would be.

The damage looked mainly cosmetic, but he turned away from the car, not yet ready to acknowledge the impact the wreckage had on him.

Pulling his jacket collar up, he headed down the street towards the convenience store - for the first time preferring to walk, regardless of the wind or rain.

**ooOoo**

Sam stood with his hands braced on the tiled wall in the cramped shower stall as the warm water rained down his back. The heat of the water was chasing away the chill from the weather, but the effort of remaining standing was slowly sapping away his remaining strength and he felt more than ready to lie down.

He closed his eyes and tried to breathe deeply against the escalating pain radiating out from his mid section. So not good, he thought, as he wrapped an arm around his waist, probing the tender flesh which was already starting to darken with an array of bruises. His whole side hurt like hell.

Quickly abandoning any thoughts of a prolonged shower, he stepped out and grabbed a fresh towel, drying himself off before discarding the damp towel onto the floor. Bending down to retrieve his clean clothes was a test of pain tolerance, but he managed it with barely a whisper, selecting to pull on comfortable sweats and a t-shirt in favor of his usual jeans and shirt.

All things considered, he reckoned it wasn't too early to hit the sack.

His brother was noticeably absent when he entered the bedroom and Sam felt a little of the tension leave him as he realised that he wouldn't be the subject of his brother's scrutiny. A wet, hungry brother with a smashed car was a potentially volatile combination and he wasn't really feeling up to dealing with it right now. If Dean was taking a bit of extra time out to cool off then that was fine by him.

He lowered himself onto the bed like an old man, careful not to jar his bruised body. He pulled up the covers, letting his body collapse against the sagging mattress.

He hurt.

He tried to will his body to sleep, but surrounded by silence and with limited distractions he could no longer deny the ache throbbing through his body. It marched in time with his heartbeat and either his pain threshold was falling or the pain was steadily increasing. In the back of his mind he knew it was the later, but refused to contemplate exactly what that meant. He drew his knees up closer into his body and took slow careful breaths, trying to breathe through the pain – just like he'd been taught.

**ooOoo**

After pulling a few pre-packaged food items off the shelves Dean joined the back of the long line, waiting to pay for his meager purchases.

Maybe it wasn't all bad, he thought, as he watched a pretty blonde restock some of the lower shelves.

"Service in this place sucks." The impatient teenager in front of him complained to everyone within hearing distance.

Dean ignored the teen and continued to watch the blonde.

"Will you hurry the fuck up, I ain't got all night," the teenager shifted his weight from foot to foot expressing his intolerance at the speed of the harried service staff.

"It's been a busy afternoon," the blonde stated catching Dean's eye.

"Yeah, quite a crowd." Dean replied, an easy smile turning up the corners of his mouth.

"And you missed out on all the action." She smiled back.

"Action?" Dean queried.

"Yeah, truck came careening down the hill earlier, brakes screeching, riding the guard rails. Thought for a sec it might plow straight into the shop." She placed the last few items of stock on to the shelf and stood up.

"Sounds like you were lucky." Dean let his eyes drift across her slim figure.

She smiled. "Yeah, maybe not so lucky for the driver of that black car …don't think I've ever seen anyone move that fast."

"Not fast enough." Dean muttered under his breath.

"You're telling me. I swear I can still hear the sound he made when the car hit him. Hard to believe anyone could just walk away from that." She gave a visible shudder at the memory.

"What do you mean?" Dean felt a chill run through his body as his mind turned to thoughts of his brother – mentally trying to remember exactly how Sam had looked when he'd returned to the motel room.

"Wouldn't even go to the hospital from what I hear. Just got back in the car and drove away like nothing happened. Can you believe that?" Her voice died out as she watched Dean dump his purchases on an empty shelf before racing out of the store.

**ooOoo**

Sam must have drifted off into a light sleep. He wasn't sure how much time passed until his brother burst back into the room bringing with him a blast of cold air. Dean made no attempt to mask the racket he made on his return, letting the door slam back into place when it caught a gust of wind.

Sam opened his bleary eyes and tried to push himself up a little in the bed. Not his best idea.

"Sam, you're a lying bastard." Dean announced, stepping around the bed as he ran a hand through his drenched hair and wiped the water off his face.

"Dean? I don't know what -" Sam whispered, wrapping and arm across his abdomen as he tried to prop himself up a little more to look at his brother.

"Don't give me that bullshit; you know exactly what I'm talking about. So; when the hell were you planning on telling me the truth - and not just your condensed version of what happened?" Dean didn't bother trying to mask his indignation as he stood at the side of the bed and glared down at Sam.

"I -" Hot agony radiated through Sam's abdomen and he clenched his teeth together, unable to prevent the moan of pain from escaping. He let his body rest back into the mattress as he tried to breathe through the pain.

"Sam?" Any thoughts about the half truths Sam had spieled off earlier or the damaged Impala deserted him when he took a good close look at his brother. Sam looked like crap. He wondered whether he'd been too wrapped up in the damaged car to notice.

Dean didn't bother to seek permission before taking hold of the edge of Sam's t-shirt and pushing it up his chest until it bunched under his armpits. He didn't need to search for an injury site, it was vividly pronounced against the otherwise pale skin of his brother's side and abdomen, disappearing beneath the edge of his sweat pants. Already the bruising was darkening to a deep purple and the area was raised and swollen.

Dean placed a flat palm against the bruising, feeling the heat radiating from the traumatized skin. Using his fingers in a gentle sweeping motion he probed across Sam's side and abdomen, trying to assess the extent of the injury.

"Dean I, I'm…" Sam swallowed against the nausea rising up his throat, trying to delay the inevitable.

"Sam?" Dean's fingers stilled as his concern stepped up a notch.

"Oh god." Sam groaned, wrapping an arm tighter around his stomach. "I'm gonna be…" Sam clamped his hand over his mouth.

He didn't see Dean move, but he was pulled to the edge of the bed and a trash bin was thrust under his face. A firm hand held onto the back of his neck as his head hung over the side of the bed and he could just make out Dean's soothing repetitive words over the pounding in his head.

Saliva pooled in his mouth and he swallowed a few more times, fighting a losing battle against the nausea.

**ooOoo**

Dean held the trash bin steady for his brother but turned his head away, trying to block out the sound and smell of his brother's retching. Even though he'd been by Sam's side many times over the years when his brother had been sick, it didn't get any easier, and he had to fight his body's instinct to start retching in sympathy.

When the bout of vomiting was over, Dean looked back at Sam, taking in his features, from the sweat glistening on his forehead to his paper white skin. As Sam leaned back against the headboard, he moved the rancid bin away from the bed, unintentionally glancing at the contents.

Blood.

**ooOoo**

Sam felt drained, his body completely exhausted as he leant his body against the headboard, needing the support to keep himself upright. God, he hated being sick, and any movement was just causing him more pain. He hadn't felt this bad when he'd been lying flat and still and he wanted nothing more than to sink back down into the oblivion of sleep.

He let his eyes drift closed as he struggled to hold on to consciousness.

"God dammit Sam, why didn't you tell me you were hurt this bad?" Dean tried to mask the worry from his voice.

"Didn't hurt that bad before." Sam opened his eyes a fraction to look at his brother.

"As opposed to what?" Dean demanded, pulling down the bed covers and hooking an arm behind his brother's back, readying to haul him up. "We're going to the hospital."

"But -" Sam started.

"No '_buts_' Sam, we're going. Not up for discussion." Dean helped swing Sam's legs off the bed and on to the floor and prop him in to a sitting position on the edge of the bed. "Christ Sam, if you weren't such a stubborn bastard we'd be there already."

Sam knew his bother was right about the hospital. Something was definitely wrong, he realized that now - he could feel it.

His bare toes curled into the carpet. "I need some shoes." Sam muttered.

Sam rested his hands on the mattress as he tried to find some purchase in the undulating room. He watched as Dean moved away and retrieved a dry pair of shoes and socks from his duffel bag and belatedly realized that he was only wearing sweats and a t-shirt.

"And my jeans Dean." Sam pleaded when he saw Dean make to move away with just the socks and shoes.

Dean glanced back to the bed. "Christ, out of all the times to be vain you have to pick now." Dean grumbled even as he pulled out the requested item of clothing plus a warm jacket. "If I didn't know you'd catch pneumonia just to prove a point I wouldn't even bother with the shoes."

Sam let his eyes fall shut again as he concentrated on breathing through the pain and nausea. He tasted the acid tang of blood on his tongue.

He felt like a child again as he let his brother help him on with the jeans and jacket, before sitting complacently as Dean put the socks and shoes on his feet. At the back of his mind he knew he'd be in for some heavy ribbing sometime in the future, but right now he couldn't bring himself to care.

"You ready now?" Dean asked as he rose from his crouched position by the bed. Sam's increasing lethargy was starting to alarm him and he wasn't keen to delay any longer.

Sam gave a small nod, keeping his mouth firmly closed as his stomach continued to churn.

His body tensed in anticipation as he felt Dean's grip on him tighten before he felt himself being pulled upwards. He opened his eyes as he tried to adjust to being fully vertical, made more difficult as the room spun around him and he swayed into the solid support of his brother.

"Okay?" Dean fisted Sam's t-shirt in one hand and kept one hand under Sam's shoulder. Sam still swayed in place and Dean knew that without a prop he'd fall straight back down.

"Dizzy." Sam mumbled, his head slumping to rest against Dean's shoulder as he struggled to remain vertical.

"Think you can make it to the car?" The distance was short, but a long way for him to carry an unconscious Sam.

Sam clutched onto Dean's jacket for support as he fought against the dizziness. He raised his head and looked at his brother, a look of confusion fleeting across his face. "I crashed the car Dean."

"That's a load of crap and you know it Sam." Dean asserted as he cemented his grip on Sam, preparing to move them.

Dean supported nearly all of his brother's weight as they staggered towards the door.

**ooOoo**

**Author's note:** I actually wanted to wrap this story up in two chapters, but it looks like there's more to come - inspired by the lovely reviews. Next chapter is already started – all going well, it should be posted in a couple of days or so.

**Reviews are love.**


	3. Chapter 3

**ooOoo**

**Author's note: **A massive thank you to everyone who simply took the time to read the story so far, reviewed, or sent me a PM. I tried to reply to everyone, but if your review was anonymous or I missed you, please know that I read every review and have cherished each one of them. This fandom is so supportive and inspiring – just fantastic really!

With regards to the following chapter, I'd like to thank _Google_ for the medical information, and apologise to any readers who actually have hard earned medical knowledge and find my attempts a little disturbing.

**ooOoo**

**Chapter 3**

He sat slumped in the cracked vinyl chair, exhaustion marring his face. His hands gripped his knees firmly as he struggled to curb his mounting impatience.

Every time the automatic doors swished open, he raised his head, a look of hope plastered across his face, only to face disappointment again and again.

There was no news on his brother.

He'd been delegated to the dim family waiting room outside the operating theatre three hours ago - for a surgery that was expected to take two.

No dog-eared magazines could distract him from the wait. None of the faded wall posters could hold his attention for more than a minute. He knew – he'd tried.

He was here, alone, and it was all his fault.

His mind traced and retraced the day's events, trying to identify that moment in time when it had all gone wrong. Tried to analyze his actions and words; trying to work out what he could have done differently. What he _should_ have done.

Even at the time, he knew deep down inside that he shouldn't have sent Sam out to get the food. In the middle of a friggin' storm no less.

There was no excuse for what had happened after.

He'd spent more time looking over the car than he had his own brother, more worried about the damage to metal than to flesh and bone. He'd barely spared more than a cursory glance at Sam when he'd returned to the motel, his attention distracted by things that just didn't really matter.

He'd made so many mistakes, and all he could do now was hope that Sam didn't pay too dearly for them – that he'd come out of the surgery okay.

Hospital trips weren't usually like this, not for Sam. Oh, they were often rushed and he always felt a twinge of fear just by stepping through the hospital doors, but he usually had some idea of what was happening, of what to expect. The straight forward setting of a broken bone or the application of a neat row of sutures were Sam's usual reasons for needing hospital care. But nothing like this. He was unprepared, and if there was one thing he prided himself on, it was always being prepared.

Sam had been whisked away by the medical staff so quickly. He wondered if it had anything to do with how ridiculous he must have looked trying to drag his gigantic semi-conscious brother into the hospital. He hoped that was the case, and not that Sam's condition warranted jumping the line and needing priority care.

A couple of cracked ribs and internal bleeding had been identified by the doctors and as soon as all the forms were signed, Sam had been taken away for emergency surgery – two hour surgery.

That had been three hours ago.

**ooOoo**

A gentle hand on his shoulder jerked Dean to his feet.

"Sam's out of surgery." The doctor paused as Dean pushed aside his exhaustion and focused on his words.

Dean glanced at his watch, surprised to see how much time had passed. "So he's okay?"

The doctor took a deep breath and tried to push aside his weariness. "Take a seat," he indicated the chair Dean had just vacated and pulled across another one to sit near Dean.

Waiting until he was sure he had Dean's full attention the doctor took a moment to compose his thoughts.

"Sam?" Dean prompted with trepidation, trying to hold everything together as he waited for an answer.

"As we discussed before the surgery, Sam had a massive hemorrhage into his abdominal cavity. He was very lucky that you brought him in when you did – or things may have not gone so well." The doctor saw Dean's face pale at his words. "As our initial scans indicated, your brother's spleen was bleeding profusely and was the cause of most of his symptoms. Sam has been fortunate; we managed to stop the bleeding without having to remove his spleen."

Dean could feel a little of the guilt lift off his shoulders as he let hope take it's place. "So he's gonna be okay?"

"I won't lie to you; he's still got some way to go. Having to go back and remove the spleen can't be completely ruled out yet, although it's not our preferred option - complete spleen removal does create the future risk of a lowered capacity to fight infection and its better to avoid this course of action if at all possible. However, if Sam starts bleeding again it may be our only option." The doctor explained patiently and gave Dean a moment to let his words sink in before making his final points. "Sam also has a couple of cracked ribs and extensive bruising around his abdominal and lower chest regions. You need to understand that Sam still has a long recovery period in front of him. While the success rate with the type of repair to the spleen that Sam received is quite high, there's always the risk of further bleeding and infection. We will of course be closely monitoring him for any signs of this."

"Can I see him now?" Dean had listened to the doctor, but words weren't really enough, only seeing his brother could give him the reassurance he craved.

"He's in recovery now, but you'll be able to see him as soon as he's taken down to Intensive Care." The doctor saw a frown mar Dean's face.

"Intensive Care?" Dean repeated, realization hitting him about how sick Sam must still be even after the surgery.

"In Intensive Care we'll be able to closely monitor Sam during the initial recovery period, but later he should be able to be moved onto one of the wards." The doctor explained. "I'll have someone come and tell you when Sam's ready to be transferred to ICU."

Rising to his feet the doctor gave Dean a reassuring smile. "Sam's young and fit; I'm quietly confident that he'll make a full recovery."

"Yeah. Thanks." Dean tried to grasp onto the doctor's confidence, desperately needing to believe that Sam would be okay.

**ooOoo**

Dean sat in the hard chair pushed into the cramped space next to Sam's bed in intensive Care. He might have just exchanged one hard chair for another, but at least now he had Sam well within his sights. For that he'd endure whatever was asked of him.

Sam had been barely coherent beyond a few moans since he'd been wheeled into the tight space. He was pale and still, connected to a monitor to measure his heart rate, blood pressure and oxygen saturation. Dean had asked the nurse explain the various machines to him and now he couldn't help but keep glancing at the ever changing numbers, making sure that they didn't move in the wrong direction.

The oxygen mask strapped to Sam's face was almost a relief after observing many of the other patients attached to ventilators. He wasn't sure he could bear to see Sam with a breathing tube down his throat. That would mean that he wasn't breathing on his own and he needed to know that Sam was breathing, that his heart was beating.

Even when the curtain was pulled around the bed to give Sam a little privacy during his examinations, Dean refused to move. Sam didn't have anything that he hadn't seen before, and really, Sam's modesty wasn't even near the top of his priority list right now. The staff grew resigned to working around him and answering his incessant questions. If they felt a little put out, he didn't care. He had more important things to worry about than their inconvenience.

**ooOoo**

Twenty-four hours later and Dean was trying to make himself comfortable in yet another inadequate hospital chair. Sam had finally been 'released' from the Intensive Care Unit and moved onto one of the wards.

Sam was still connected to various monitors, but his most recent scan had confirmed that they'd been no further internal bleeding. The doctor was 'cautiously optimistic' and whilst that wasn't good enough for Dean, he was willing to hold on to that at this time. It was better than the alternatives.

He was struggling against exhaustion and lack of sleep, but the knowledge that Sam had finally been deemed stable enough to leave Intensive Care was more than welcome. Now maybe he'd be able to close his eyes for more than a few minutes at a time, so than when Sam became a little more coherent, he'd be alert enough to function properly.

**ooOoo**

Rubbing the sleep out of his eyes, Dean stretched cramped muscles as he came slowly awake. He looked across to Sam's bed, his eyes meeting the direct gaze of his brother.

"Hey." Sam whispered; his throat dry and voice hoarse.

"You're awake!" Dean leant over and pressed the call button on the wall. "How're you feeling? Any pain? Need anything? I called the nurse, she should be coming -."

"No, I'm fine Dean." Sam croaked. His head felt fuzzy and his limbs heavy. A dull ache pulsed through his body and he felt almost disconnected from his surroundings.

"Seriously, you might have to work a little harder to get me to believe that." Dean ran a hand through his hair as he fought to contain his emotions. "Dammit Sam, you scared the shit outta me."

"I know. I'm sorry. I didn't…" Sam stopped, looking towards the door as a middle-aged nurse entered.

"He's awake." Dean stated as soon as she entered.

"Yes, I can see that." The nurse smiled as she retrieved Sam's chart and moved to stand beside the bed. "Its good to see you properly awake Sam. How are you feeling?"

"Okay." Sam answered as he watched her check the monitors.

"And what about pain?" She asked, watching him closely.

"It's okay." Sam replied, already starting to feel sleepy again.

"That's good. You have any pain; you just let me know okay?" When Sam gave a slight nod in reply, she continued. "Now, I just need you to lie still while I take your temperature and blood pressure, can you do that?"

"Yeah." Sam felt like a small child being mothered, but he was too tired to complain.

He felt the nurse guide the thermometer into his ear and hold it in place. Keeping his eyes open was just too hard, so Sam let them close as he listened to the nurse's voice explaining what she was doing. Sleep claimed him again before the thermometer was withdrawn.

**ooOoo**

It felt like the longest couple of days of Dean's life. Hours dragged by as he watched Sam sleep, watched the monitors, watched the slow movement of the intravenous line as it fed vital fluids and medications to Sam's body. Sam woke for short periods of time, just long enough to break the monotony that was coming close to driving him insane.

After Sam drifted off to sleep again, mid-sentence, Dean made his way out of the hospital room. He needed real coffee and the chance to stretch his legs and get a few breaths of fresh air not contaminated with the tang of antiseptic.

More than a dozen missed calls on his cell prompted him to contact Bobby, realizing they'd failed to meet up as arranged with the other hunter. After giving Bobby a run down of the last few days' events, Bobby somehow managed to wrangle a promise out of him to take Sam up to his place to recover once he was discharged. Exactly how Bobby had managed that he wasn't sure. God, he must be more tired than he thought. With a weary shake of his head he slipped the phone back into his pocket.

After purchasing a burger and a large coffee to go, Dean made his way back to Sam's hospital room. He wanted to be there when Sam woke up again.

**ooOoo**

The following day the doctor stood at the end of Sam's bed, arms folded across his chest as he looked at Sam.

"Not before the end of the week." The doctor stated adamantly.

"But I…" Sam started to argue, looking toward Dean for support.

"Hey, don't look at me. I agree with the Doc. If he says you should stay 'til the end of the week, then you're staying 'til the end of the week." Dean folded his arms across his chest, standing in solidarity with the doctor.

"I can rest up just as well some place else …Dean, didn't you say we were going to be staying with Bobby for a while? I can rest up just as well there." Sam pleaded, just drawing the line short of actually begging.

"At least two more days Sam, unless you want to run the risk of ending up right back here?" The doctor continued, not waiting for an answer. "I still want to run a couple of tests and another scan before you're discharged, just to make sure that there's no further bleeding and that everything's as it should be."

It was a conspiracy, Sam thought, as he looked at the two men standing at the foot of the bed, effectively blocking his escape. He knew, without Dean's assistance, he had no chance of an early discharge.

"At least get me some decent coffee" Sam acquiesced, realizing he wouldn't be winning this battle.

"We'll see." Dean answered, having no intention of going against the doctor's orders.

**ooOoo**

Two days later the doctor glanced up from Sam's chart. "The good news is that the latest scan showed no signs of any further abdominal bleeding."

"So I'm good to go?" Sam asked.

"If I say 'no' is it going to make any difference?" The doctor asked with weary resignation, knowing what the answer was going to be.

"No." Sam answered without pause, anticipating finally getting out of the hospital.

"Where's your brother?" The absence of Dean in the room was a first for the doctor.

Sam smiled. "I asked him to get me my clothes. You know, I really don't want to leave wearing this." He indicated the thin cotton hospital gown.

Dean strode into the room just in time to catch the tail end of the conversation. "Oh, I don't know Sam. I'm sure there are a couple of nurses who wouldn't mind the view on your way out."

"Please tell me you brought my clothes." Sam looked with hope at the bag Dean was carrying.

"Least you could do is give the nurses a show on your way out you ungrateful bastard." Dean joked as he pulled Sam's clothes out of the bag.

The doctor gave a small laugh as he listened to the brotherly exchange. "Now Sam, I know I said you could finally leave this wonderful establishment today, but before you do, we need to discuss a couple of things."

"Yeah, okay, anything, just as long as I'm free to leave." Sam held his clothes in his lap as he gave the doctor his full attention. He felt Dean place a hand on his shoulder as he too waited to hear what the doctor had to say.

"Sam, you need to remember that your spleen will take a number of weeks to heal and it'll take time for your body to fully recover. During this period of healing it's critical that your abdominal area is not traumatized in any way." The doctor addressed both brothers.

"I'll make sure he gets plenty of rest." Dean spoke without hesitation.

The doctor looked at Dean. "I'm sure you will, but it's more than just making sure he rests." He spoke directly to Sam. "You'll need to adhere to strict activity restrictions including, no lifting, no running; basically, no strenuous activities of any type. I'll make sure a list of restricted activities is included with the discharge papers."

"Won't let him lift anything heavier than a pencil." Dean responded.

"Yeah, no problem." Sam only had to think about how exhausting it was to walk across the room to the bathroom to know that a ban on running wasn't going to be an issue.

"Well Sam, you take care. Any problems, any at all, don't hesitate to come back in." The doctor walked towards the door, stopping just outside to glance back at one of his favorite patients. Looking at Dean standing by his brother's side, he felt sure that Sam would have someone to make sure that he received more than satisfactory post-hospital care. He turned to walk down the corridor, but paused for a moment to listen to the banter that started up again.

"Hey Sam, think that list includes no sex?" Dean asked in mock seriousness.

"I don't know Dean." Sam replied, keeping his face blank.

"Suppose it depends on whether you plan on being strenuous or not." Dean tried to look deep in thought but a slight smile betrayed him.

"Whatever Dean. You planning on helping me here or what?" Sam swung his legs over the side of the bed. He wanted to get dressed and out of the hospital before the doctor changed his mind.

As the banter continued, the doctor walked away with a smile on his face.

**ooOoo**

Welcome sunlight greeted them as the walked out of the hospital's main doors. "Least the storm's gone." Sam looked up at the cloudless sky, more than happy just to be outside again.

Guilt washed over Dean in waves as he remembered the storm he'd sent Sam out in. Even though he knew Sam didn't blame him for the accident, it didn't matter, he had more than enough blame for himself. Pushing his feeling aside for the moment, he kept close to Sam's side as he slowly steered his brother towards the parked Impala.

As they neared the car, Sam came to a complete stop. "The damage, you didn't get it fixed."

Dean glanced at the car. "It can wait." He dismissed its importance.

Dean prodded Sam to keep moving towards the Impala, barely sparing the damage another glance. Unlocking the passenger side door, he helped ease Sam into the seat before gently closing the door. "One thing at a time," he murmured, moving towards the driver's side.

After a week confined to a bed, the short walk to the car had left Sam feeling a little shaky. A bit ironic really, he thought. He'd spent a week of wanting to get out of bed only to get out and want nothing more than to climb back in.

"We heading to Bobby's?" Sam asked; trying to calculate how many hours the drive would take. He didn't want to have to admit it to Dean, but he wasn't sure he was feeling up to any more than an hour or two in the car.

"Today; a motel. We'll head to Bobby's tomorrow after you've had a chance to rest up a bit." When he saw the look of relief on Sam's face, Dean knew he had made the right decision.

**ooOoo**

Sam was frustrated. The next day they didn't hit the road until mid morning. Everything seemed to take him twice as long, from showering and dressing, to eating the small breakfast Dean fetched for him. By the time he settled into the Impala he was already tired again, despite having spent days doing little more than sleeping.

A couple of hours later he came to the realisation that pain pills could only do so much, despite their strength. His cracked ribs let themselves be felt with every breath in and out. He'd tried to hold himself still to minimise the pain, but the rest of his body was starting to cramp up.

He stretched out his aching body, desperately seeking the extra leg room that just wasn't there. Even thoughhey'd only been driving for a couple of hours, it felt like days. He rubbed his aching side, kneading the tense muscles but being careful to avoid the row of still healing stitches nestled just below his rid cage. With a little luck, the sutures should be able to come out in a few days time. He knew the scar was healing nicely, the itchy skin was a sure sign that the wound was healing and he struggled not to itch or scratch at the bandaged site.

"Side bothering you?" Dean asked, observing Sam's actions out of the corner of his eye.

"Damn stitches are itchy." Sam hedged around the question.

"Well leave them alone or they'll take longer to heal." Dean glanced at his brother.

"I am." Sam grumbled.

"Sam, I can see you scratching from here." Dean contradicted the blatant lie.

Sam dropped his hand away from his injured side with an irritated sigh.

"How much longer?" He asked, wondering when Dean intended to stop for the day.

Dean took his eyes off the road for a moment to look at his brother more closely. "You okay?"

"Just tired…" He flexed his toes and shifted in his seat as he tried to find a more comfortable position inside the cramped confines of the Impala. He leaned back, closed his eyes and willed his body to relax. He could do this.

"I'll pull in at the next town."Dean scanned for a road sign, hoping there'd be a turn-off soon.

Sam didn't complain.

**ooOoo**

Sam opened his eyes but didn't move when Dean parked the car at the cheap motel fifteen minutes later. The place had the run-down air about it that was typical of the majority of places that they stayed in. At least this place made no pretensions about what it was providing though, just '_clean rooms – reasonable rates'._ Clean would make a nice change, anything extra was a bonus.

Dean took off to the front desk, returning a couple of minutes later with the room key in hand. He slowly climbed out of the car, careful not to jar his still healing body. He was cautious as he placed weight on his legs, trying not to favour his uninjured side too much. A day in the car seemed to have only aggravated his injuries, and he now felt stiff and sore. With determination not to give in to the pain, he stood and flexed his body, trying to shake out the stiffness, biting back a grimace as he felt the pull of the stitches on his torn skin.

He followed his brother into the motel room, surprised that the place really did live up to its advertising. In contrast to the building's outside appearance, the room smelled fresh and the linen looked clean and crisp. He sunk down gratefully onto one of the beds and stretched his weary body. It had been a long few hours of driving, and the feeling of unconfined movement was a blessing.

Dean watched his brother's movements, picking up on the pain he was trying to hide. Not for the first time, he wondered whether they should have stayed at the motel near the hospital and allowed Sam to rest for a few more days before starting the drive to Bobby's.

The long scar near Sam's upper abdomen from the surgery following his run in with the car had required numerous stitches and the doctor's parting speech was imprinted on his memory. There was no way they'd be taking on a new job until Sam was completely back on his feet, despite Sam's assurances that he was already starting to feel better. No, Sam was just going to have to suck it up and rest until his body determined that he was one hundred percent fit again.

Before heading out this morning, he'd thought Sam was looking a little better, but maybe they'd spent too long driving today. His brother looked washed out and pale, exhaustion and pain obviously playing a part as Sam moved straight to the bed to lie down.

**ooOoo**

It took them a further two days to reach Bobby's, Dean not driving for more than a couple of hours each day. Sam wasn't sure whether to be frustrated or grateful.

After assuring Bobby that he wasn't knocking on death's door, Sam made his way to the couch, lying back into the dusty cushions, relishing the feeling of being able to stretch out a little.

Dean stood beside the couch and looked down at his brother. "Take off you shirt."

"What?" Sam groaned. Dean had been hovering around him for days and he'd been privately hoping that with Bobby to talk to, Dean would give him a little alone time.

"I wanna check your stitches." Dean hovered at the edge of the couch, ready to help Sam if needed.

"But I just…" Sam stuttered in frustration as he fought the urge to snap at his brother. He'd just settled down and really couldn't summon the energy to move again, regardless of what Dean wanted.

"Now Sam! Then you can take a shower and I'll see if Bobby will make us something to eat." Dean said, hoping to sweeten the deal.

Sam shimmied out of his shirt under the watchful eye of his brother. He lay back on the couch, his body tense and rigid as Dean crouched down before pulling aside the bandage adhered to Sam's side, revealing the bruised and swollen injury site.

"Man, you're gonna have a cool scar." Dean stated as his fingers probed the area around the sutures.

Sam flinched away from his brother's touch. "God Dean stop being a sadistic prick; that hurts."

"Stop being such a friggin' girl Sam, I'm barely touching it." Dean continued to run his fingers along the length of Sam's cracked ribs, making sure they hadn't sustained any further injury after the days travel.

"You done? Cause I'm sure I can find a sharp knife round here somewhere if you want to probe a little deeper." Sam clenched his teeth, his bruised flesh still tender to the touch.

"Suck it up and quit complaining." Dean carefully pulled away the complete bandage, starting to feel satisfied with how Sam was healing.

"It's fine Dean. Really. You can leave it alone now." Sam pushed Dean's hands away.

"Yeah, doc did a good job, doesn't look infected. I'll bandage it back up after you've showered." Dean stood up, offering his hand to help Sam.

"Can't friggin' wait." Sam muttered, grasping Dean's hand.

"You're a whiny little bitch when you're hurt Sam, I ever tell you that?" Dean asked.

"We'll see how you like it next time the tables are turned." Sam retorted as he stepped away from his brother.

"Yeah, I'd take it like a man, that's what I'd do." Dean replied without hesitation.

"Yeah, well this whiny little bitch is gonna take a shower." Sam headed towards the bathroom, realising that he'd get no peace until he'd done what Dean wanted.

"Don't you dare use all the hot water." Dean shouted at his retreating back.

"Wouldn't dream of it." Sam let the unseen smile spread across his face.

**ooOoo**

"Sam good?" Bobby asked as Dean joined him in the kitchen.

God, Dean needed to believe he was going to be. "Yeah."

"Now, 'bout that car of yours?" Bobby had been glad to have seen that most of the damage could be fixed with a little time and sweat.

Dean rubbed his temple with his fingers. "Christ Bobby, I came so close, too goddamn close, to losing everything."

Bobby laid a hand on Dean's shoulder. "Listen to me; that boy, you can't watch him every minute of the day. Surely he don't blame you for what happened, so don't you go blaming yourself."

Dean looked at Bobby. "You don't get it. I dropped the ball on this one Bobby and Sam paid the price."

"You Winchester's sure do like to carry a weight around on your shoulders. You don't let it go, one day that weight will bury you." Bobby gave Dean's shoulder a gentle squeeze.

_End._

**ooOoo**

**Author's Note: **I know I'm always promising sequels that I never seem to write, but I realize I left this story open for one. I've already got a few ideas, because somehow I don't think Sam could go more than a few weeks sticking to doctor's orders.

Reviews are love.


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